


Anchored, unanchored (Whumptober 2020)

by twofrontteethstillcrooked



Series: Whumptober [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, snippetfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:13:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27273250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofrontteethstillcrooked/pseuds/twofrontteethstillcrooked
Summary: 9 October: panic attack19 October: secret injury, bandages
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Series: Whumptober [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975861
Kudos: 5





	Anchored, unanchored (Whumptober 2020)

**Author's Note:**

> 9 October: panic attack
> 
> 19 October: secret injury, bandages

Bruce counted off the seconds in his head: breathe in, one-two-three-four; hold, five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten-eleven; breathe out, twelve-thirteen-fourteen-fifteen-sixteen. He willed his pulse to stay steady, not too fast, nothing that would indicate distress or discomfort. He refused to react to the wind that was sharper as it cut around the corner of the penthouse balcony than it would have been at street level. And he tried not to think about how he had, with literally no forethought, taken Clark’s hand and pressed it against his own chest, right at his heart, as though Clark’s ears were in his palms – as though, under normal circumstances, Clark couldn’t hear his heartbeat from the other side of the planet.

“You’re okay,” Bruce told him as softly as possible.

Clark floated the last few inches down to the balcony surface. The apples of his cheeks had gone slightly pink, a huge improvement over the chalky pallor he’d shown up with. He still hadn’t spoken out loud or opened his eyes. His other hand came down to rest on Bruce’s shoulder, the touch so unweighted Bruce would almost not have felt it if he hadn’t been paying attention.

Bruce was paying far too much attention. He stayed upright, sturdy, and ignored the twinging that stuttered down his side. He counted seconds’ worth of breaths, and red exit signs visible through skyscraper windows across the street, and dim stars dotted above the nearest roofline, and dark, dark eyelashes. It was the eyelashes that were going to get him in trouble, or would have, if when Clark opened his eyes he had been anything like his normal professional self. If he and Bruce hadn’t been standing, touching at two points of contact, with only the merest of inches otherwise between them.

“It’s better,” Clark said, not sounding too confident about it. He blinked a couple of times and swallowed, staring at his fingers on Bruce’s chest like he wasn’t sure how they’d come to be there. When he looked up at Bruce, he took a step back, almost guiltily. 

Bruce released his hand and let him move away. He was pretty sure his heart rate didn’t betray anything.

“It’s like,” Clark started, “like I got stuck. I’d opened up my hearing to try and pinpoint this siren I thought I’d heard and.” He was staring at his hands while he held them up like there was something in them that he might drop. “Everything just flooded in. I couldn’t swim up out of it.”

His voice saying _“Bruce”_ once over the comm had been urgent enough Bruce had barked out his own location without hesitation. Maybe it was a good sign Clark was able to fly to him as quickly as he had, which seemed to Bruce to have taken less than a minute, if that; he’d almost wrenched off the door handle trying to beat Clark to the balcony. Flying with precision at near light speed? Promising. He took a second to be grateful Clark hadn’t arrived with a fleet of Thanagarian snare beasts on his heels or another kryptonian-tipped arrow in his thigh. 

Speaking of. “Not sure you should be working today,” Bruce ventured carefully.

Clark lowered his hands. “It’s been mostly all right. Got a bit swamped here at the end of the day, I guess.”

“No leads on Luthor’s involvement yesterday?" 

"Nah.” Clark shook his head, a brief, rueful smile crossing his expression. “Glad no-one else was impacted.” His eyes shifted to Bruce’s. Bruce didn’t have time to stop him saying, “Not sure you should be working today either.”

“Taking care of some Foundation business isn’t taxing.” Bruce crossed his arms over his chest and disregarded the stiffness of the movement. “And I’m not…elsewhere for another couple of hours.”

“Well, as long as you’re getting hours of rest.” Clark’s smile was bigger but still brief as he looked away. “For the record, none of your privacy protocols were breached. You’re the one who grabbed me.” His expression softened. “You should loosen that top wrapping later. It might be biting into your ribcage more than necessary.”

“Noted.” Bruce knew he didn’t have to explain anything further. Minor injuries were standard issue, just another day at the office, etc.

They stood in the breeze for a minute, not looking at one another. 

“That… The way you were breathing, earlier.” Clark studied the planter full of bromeliads to the left of the door behind them. “It’s for panic attacks, yeah?”

Bruce nodded. 

Clark nodded. “Useful. Even though I don’t really need to–” He waved a hand over his torso.

“Yeah,” Bruce said. “Good.”

“Well,” Clark said. “That siren I thought I heard seems to have quit. I should probably head out anyway. Thanks for…being here." 

"Sure you don’t want to come in and have a drink? Or submit to a full vital signs assessment?” Bruce found himself asking, in a voice he hoped didn’t sound smarmier than necessary, while making his own examination of the bromeliads. 

Clark ducked his head. “No, but seriously. Thank you for helping.”

Like helping him had been such a strenuous ordeal or was any sort of inconvenience, instead of what Bruce would’ve done under any circumstance short of coma. “You’re welcome,” Bruce said quietly. He made himself look at Clark, tamping back any unreasonable expectation about why Clark would ever return the glance.

But then Clark did. And, oh, Bruce recognized his own mistake immediately, because when Clark looked at him – when Clark was much, much closer than he’d expected him to be – he experienced a sensation like he’d stepped to the balcony edge into a rush of air streaming up from below. It felt precarious, foolhardy. Bruce had trained hard over the years to have impeccable balance. He was not a person who’d trip too far forward into a free-fall without a way to land safely. There was a light in Clark’s eyes Bruce simultaneously wanted to run from and pursue, and Clark’s fingertips just barely rested above his heart again. Whatever Clark heard, he didn’t really seem to be in too much of a hurry to leave, his mouth on Bruce’s a bright bloom of warmth Bruce swayed towards.

It wasn’t, Bruce decided, at all like falling; it was more like choosing to jump.


End file.
